


clean up on aisle 69

by trasshboat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, oikawa is a nightmare, that's the whole thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 13:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20116150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trasshboat/pseuds/trasshboat
Summary: iwaizumi is a tired grocery store clerk and oikawa is a little shitbased on this thing that still makes me smile https://indianexpress.com/article/trending/trending-globally/ive-kept-the-cash-because-i-needed-weed-a-new-yorker-gets-a-hilarious-note-instead-of-lost-wallet/





	clean up on aisle 69

**Author's Note:**

> sorry but despite the title of this they don't bone in the middle of the grocery store
> 
> if this feels incomplete it's because this is part of a longer work that i may/may not continue (bc i'm running low on hq inspiration) but hopefully you can get a chuckle out of it

“Thanks, come again,” Iwaizumi says gruffly, handing a plastic bag full of groceries to a well-to-do businessman. The man gives him a noncommittal nod as he turns to walk away. He can’t even blame the customer for his lack of enthusiasm--it’s not like Iwaizumi is particularly thrilled to be working on a Monday morning.

Honestly, he’d been considering calling out this morning. He’s had a busy week, and in his mind he's still back in his apartment tangled in warm blankets. But with the semester coming to a close, he’s running out of time to save up money before taking time off to visit his family for the holidays.

But really, the worst thing about the opening shift at the grocery store is that it’s always mind-numbingly slow. It just gives Iwaizumi more time to stew in his own thoughts.

But he’s not thinking about the five finals he has to study for once he gets off of work. No, his attention is focused on something else that’s been nagging at him for the past few days.

About a week or so ago, Iwaizumi arrived home after a long day of classes to find that his wallet was no longer in his pocket. Panicked, he retraced his steps all the way to the metro station, where he asked the staff there if they’d seen his wallet--light blue leather with white accents, the kanji of his favorite proverb embroidered on the front.

His search turned up nothing, and he resigned himself to buying a new metrocard and canceling his credit cards. He hadn’t gotten around to getting a new driver’s license, but apparently that wasn’t a problem after all.

When Iwaizumi checked his mail three days ago, he found an envelope containing his driver’s license, credit cards, and health insurance card. Also enclosed in the envelope was a handwritten note that read:

_Dear Iwaizumi Hajime,_

_ I’m about to rock your world! _

_I found your wallet on the station platform, and your license had your address on it. I figured I’d send you your license and other important stuff. But!!! I kept the cash because I needed weed, the metrocard because, well, you know how high the fare is right now, and the wallet ‘cause the design’s kinda nice and the colors complement my eyes. ;)_

_ No need to thank me for anything, enjoy the rest of your day! <3_

_ Toodles,  
Anonymous_

_P.S. You’re pretty cute, but you shouldn’t frown so much; you’ll get the worst wrinkles!_

There was no return address. 

The “I”s were dotted with hearts, and the script was overly cutesy. It made Iwaizumi’s blood boil.

He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Of course whoever who stole his wallet likes the design, it was custom-made by his mom for his high school graduation. He’s taken extremely good care of it since, up until he foolishly dropped it on his way home from the station.

Iwaizumi’s idly messing with the cash register, more agitated than usual. He’s relieved to have his license and insurance card back, for sure. And he’d only been carrying about twenty bucks, but his credit cards are useless and he really, _really_ misses his wallet. 

And if he wasn’t so pissed off about the wallet, he’d be grateful that the person who found it was reasonable enough to return his cards without buying anything weird with them.

He grumbles as he restocks the plastic bags at the register, looking up when a customer rolls into his check-out aisle. The guy glances at Iwaizumi and does a double-take, eyes raking over Iwaizumi’s face as if he’s trying to find something hidden there. But he quickly smooths out his expression and starts putting his stuff on the conveyor belt.

Huh. Weird.

Brushing off the inexplicably strange yet brief interaction, Iwaizumi starts scanning the items moving down the conveyor belt. He notes the thick-rimmed glasses and _horrendous_ sweater the guy’s wearing--seriously, how is it possible to blend argyle _and_ plaid?--and decides almost immediately that he dislikes him. 

It’s eight in the morning on a _Monday_, and the way this asshole’s dressed suggests he spent an obscene amount of time getting ready this morning. His dark brown hair is swept up in a style Iwaizumi thinks is supposed to seem effortless, but the haggard cashier can only imagine how much hair product was needed to keep it styled that way. 

When the guy returns his gaze to Iwaizumi after setting down all of his groceries, eyes a deep brown that matches his hair, it’s with a bright, fake smile that causes Iwaizumi’s eye to twitch.

“Hi, how was everything.” Iwaizumi means to phrase it like a question, but it comes out too blunt, too monotone. 

He’s not a fan of the customer’s staring. He feels like the guy’s picking apart his appearance, cataloguing the dark circles under his eyes along with every wrinkle in his work shirt. The semester’s taken a lot out of Iwaizumi, and waking up at six in the morning after a late night studying has done nothing nice for his skin. It's also been a couple days since he last shaved, which only makes him look even scruffier.

He can admit that much, but he doesn’t need some guy with glowing skin and long eyelashes side-eyeing him because he himself isn’t the picture of perfection.

“Absolutely wonderful,” the customer says cheerily, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “Helps when I get to see such a bright ray of sunshine so early in the morning.” 

He winks as he says it, and Iwaizumi subconsciously bags a jar of applesauce with a little more force than is strictly necessary. The lightness of the customer’s voice belies the sarcasm that laces his words.

“Glad to hear it.” His own voice is still a little too rough around the edges, and it’s taking all his effort not to glare at the guy in front of him. 

Iwaizumi begrudgingly notes the dimples in this annoying customer’s cheeks and determinedly refocuses all of his attention on scanning and bagging his items. His extremely _bizarre_ items--Iwaizumi didn’t even know that the store stocked nutritional yeast and flax seeds. 

But, somehow, it’s the most normal item on the conveyor belt that really throws Iwaizumi off. He scans an alien-themed cake with a cursive “Good job, Tooru!” written on it in green icing, wondering what occasion the cake’s for.

Well, whatever. He’s not all that curious, really.

“Follow the instructions on the display,” he mutters without looking up, finishing bagging the last of the guy’s items. Seriously, who could possibly need so many packages of black bean burgers? And what twenty-something year old can afford to buy so much organic shit?

Before the receipt prints, Iwaizumi reflexively glances at the screen above the register to see what the customer’s name is.

_Oikawa Tooru_.

For some reason he can't quite place, he feels content now that he can put a name to the face in front of him.

Iwaizumi turns back to face Oikawa just in time to see him put his credit card away.

And then Iwaizumi freezes in place as he slides Oikawa’s receipt into a bag, vision filled with the sight of a very familiar wallet in the hands of a very pret--_weird_ customer. Iwaizumi blinks a few times, staring in disbelief as Oikawa slides his card back into _Iwaizumi’s wallet_.

Oikawa glances up as he slides the wallet into his back pocket, brows furrowing as Iwaizumi gapes at him. He waves a hand in front of Iwaizumi’s face until his eyes snap to Oikawa’s face, laser-focusing. Oikawa takes a half-step back, trying to play off his discomfort with a smile.

“Hey, hey, what’s the m--”

“Where did you get that wallet?” Iwaizumi demands, leaning forward and bracing his hands on either side of the item scanner.

“Why do you a--” he starts, before cutting himself off as he reads Iwaizumi’s name tag for what must be the first time. Iwaizumi can see the recognition register on Oikawa’s face.

It suddenly makes sense why the guy gave Iwaizumi such a confused look when he first saw him--Oikawa probably vaguely recognized him from the driver’s license. 

Understanding dawns over Oikawa’s face, rich brown eyes widening behind his glasses and mouth opening in a small, surprised “o”-shape. But he quickly regains his composure, features smoothing out into a languid, fake smile. “Listen, Iwa-chan--”

“Don’t call me that. And answer my question.” His voice is dangerously low, glare boring directly into Oikawa’s eyes.

Oikawa waves the look off, huffing an exasperated breath. He looks extremely put-upon, as if Iwaizumi is inconveniencing _him_. “Okay, okay. Iwa-chan, I’m sorry for keeping your wallet, but it’s not my fault you lost something so valuable.” He shrugs. “And you know what they say, ‘finder’s keeper’s’ and all of that. It’s not like I went and maxed out your credit cards or anything. You should really _thank_ me for being kind enough to return anything at all, y’know.” He finishes his little spiel by running his long fingers through his hair, nose raised slightly in the air.

Iwaizumi gapes--literally goes slack-jawed with disbelief--at the nerve of this asshole. He doesn’t know where to start, considering how every word out of Oikawa’s mouth makes Iwaizumi equal parts amazed and infuriated. But he knows that if he loses his temper, regardless of how valid that anger is, he’s going to get chewed out by Mizoguchi, the more brusque of the two managers working that morning.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, unclenching the fists he reflexively formed as Oikawa spoke. When he opens his eyes again, the guy’s still looking at him with that obnoxious entitlement that suggests he’s untouchable.

“Listen, thanks for sending me my cards or whatever. But you still owe me twenty bucks and a new metrocard. I had like, fifteen dollars on that thing,” he grumbles. “And that wallet cost money, don’t think you get to leave here with it.” His eyes drop down to where Oikawa is holding his wallet hostage as he attempts to burn a hole through Oikawa with a glare.

Oikawa gasps dramatically, shielding his crotch with his hands and hunching his shoulders protectively over himself. Iwaizumi jerks away slightly--that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. 

Iwaizumi’s eye twitches as he catches the smallest hint of a smile on Oikawa’s face.

“How inappropriate!” Oikawa’s voice is too loud for how early in the morning it is, loud enough to draw the attention of a few nearby customers. Iwaizumi’s eyes widen as the Oikawa’s voice steadily picks up in volume. “Are you trying to come onto me? I’m just trying to get some Monday morning shopping done! I refuse to be ogled at by the likes of you!” His voice carries as if he’s on stage delivering a monologue. 

“I--wha--quit it, you’re being too loud, idiot!” Iwaizumi hisses, putting his hands up defensively in a plea for Oikawa to shut up.

“Oh, my! Raising a fist against a defenseless patron of this fine establishment, are you? How scary,” he nearly yells, throwing a hand up to his forehead. His performance has everyone within a twenty-foot radius of Iwaizumi’s check-out line gawking openly at the two of them.

Iwaizumi is _horrified_. 

If he’d known that this was waiting for him when he got into work, he _definitely_ would’ve called out sick. He honestly feels like he’s going to be sick, with eyes focused on the two of them and Iwaizumi unwillingly playing the co-star in Oikawa’s extremely disruptive improv show. 

He’s actually rendered speechless, at a loss for how to handle Oikawa even though he knows that the more the situation escalates, the more likely it is for one or both of his managers to come check out the problem for themselves.

And oh, that’s definitely a headache starting to pinch at his temples.

Iwaizumi likes to believe he's a good enough person--he pays his own rent, he maintains his grades while balancing a part time job and volleyball club, and he even manages to call home every day.

So he can't understand what he did to deserve this level of harassment so early in the morning.

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

The gruff voice immediately knocks Iwaizumi’s anxiety down a peg--thank _God_ it’s Irihita who decided to investigate the commotion and not Mizoguchi. The last thing Iwaizumi needs is the assistant manager chewing him out for something that isn’t his fault. 

Before Iwaizumi has a chance to explain, Oikawa takes a step to the side and faces Irihita with owlish eyes and a frown dripping with artificial remorse.

“Oh no, did I cause a scene? I was only upset that there wasn't a sale on soy milk today. But really, it's no problem and I'm pretty embarrassed by the whole thing!” 

As he speaks, he picks up all of his grocery bags one by one. Adjusting their weight in his arms, he shoots a high-voltage smile at Irihita. “Really, I apologize. Thank you for the great service, I'll be on my way now!”

Oikawa doesn't wait for anyone to say anything to him before he's hurrying out of the store with a skip to his step. “Toodles!” he calls over his shoulder, winking at Iwaizumi as he exits the store.

Iwaizumi is still processing the tail-end of their conversation minutes after the store’s door closes behind Oikawa. He's pretty sure Irihita asks him what the hell that was all about, but he's still trying to figure it out himself.

The first thing he comes to realize as he's staring after Oikawa is that he left with Iwaizumi’s wallet stuck stuffed in his back pocket. Not that he was intentionally staring, or anything.

The second is that the whole encounter lasted maybe ten minutes, yet he now desperately needs a nap.

What the fuck.

\--

Much to his displeasure, Iwaizumi isn't able to put the shitty hipster out of his mind for the rest of the day, even after his shift. He can barely focus on studying--in fact, he can barely focus on anything at all except for the memory of a pair of dark brown eyes framed by obviously fake glasses. Eventually, he gives up on studying in favor of reorganizing his room in an attempt to feel productive.

It's the worst when he's trying to cook dinner.

Iwaizumi absentmindedly tosses his spaghetti noodles into a pot without boiling water first, and after fixing that issue, he leaves the pasta sauce on the stove unattended for about an hour before remembering he’d been cooking. At one point, his roommate Sawamura asks if everything is okay--Iwaizumi just groans. Sawamura pats him on the shoulder comfortingly as Iwaizumi stares sadly into the burnt, black crust in the pot he’ll surely have to throw away.

He settles on calling for take-out.

It’s no better when he’s lying in bed that night, staring up at his ceiling with a restlessness that makes no sense, considering how exhausted he feels.

Iwaizumi’s almost managed to stifle his Oikawa-centric thoughts and _finally_ fall asleep before he’s shocked to attention by a sudden revelation. 

“Holy shit,” he mumbles as he sits up in bed, rubbing his forehead with his hand.

_Oikawa Tooru. Tooru. TOORU._

That asshole literally bought himself a congratulatory cake, didn't he?

And even though their interaction earlier that day had been brief, it somehow felt entirely in-character for Oikawa to do something so conceited.

Iwaizumi’s never been quick to anger--he’s always been more or less level-headed, and he finds grudges to be a waste of energy. He doesn’t understand how someone he's just met could affect him so much. 

But Iwaizumi’s frustration keeps him up most of the night, and when he rolls out of bed the next morning, he feels more exhausted than he had when he'd fallen asleep.


End file.
